Slade made a detour toward him, approaching slowly.
“Atticus?”
Atticus’s head turned slowly, his eyes coming to rest on Slade’s face.
“You okay?”
“No.”
Well, admitting it was half the battle, right?
Slade stepped closer.
As he did, Atticus held up a hand, his eyes narrowing. “I blame you for this shit.”
Slade frowned, looking around, wondering what he was talking about. “What shit?”
“Why the fuck did you stick your nose in it?” Atticus snapped, standing tall. “Why the fuck can’t you just move on?”
“Look. Atticus—”
Atticus closed the gap between them, slapping his hands on Slade’s chest. Slade stumbled back a step from the impact.
“No, you fuckinglook,” Atticus growled. “I don’t know what you’ve got goin’ with Carson, but I don’t want any part of it.”
“I don’t have—”
“You want him back?” Atticus bit out.
“No.”
Atticus pushed him. “Liar.”
“I’m not—”
Atticus pushed him again. “I could’ve had a good thing with Carson.”
“You still can, Atticus.”
“Fuck that shit!”
Atticus shoved him again, but this time, Slade stopped him by grabbing his arms. Atticus’s back hit the door of his truck when Slade reversed his momentum, moving in close to ensure Atticus couldn’t hit him again.
“It’s not about Carson,” Slade hissed, leaning in.
Atticus tried to shove him again. “The fuck it’s not.”
Slade had about forty pounds of solid muscle on Atticus, so he leaned into him, pressing his weight on the smaller man.
“It’s not about him,” he said, keeping his voice low. “It’s about you, goddammit.”
Atticus’s green eyes sparked with fury as he stared up at Slade.
“Are you still runnin’ this con with him?” Atticus asked. “Is that what I am? A play toy for the two of you to paw at so Carson can watch?”
“No.”
“Liar.”
